


All The Waves Would Bow Down (The River Queen)

by solitariusvirtus



Series: Uncanny Westeros (Otherworlds) [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Child Loss, Disturbing Themes, Gen, Infanticide, Murder-Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 05:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5654689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>"Is that wise?" the Queen asked, her sweet voice filling the uneasy silence. "I mean no disrespect, my lord," she addressed the Old Wolf, "but your daughter has never quite recovered after," she trailed off delicately, one hand sweeping a vague gesture before the eyes of those present.<br/></p>
</blockquote><br/>Jaime plays at being a knight.
            </blockquote>





	All The Waves Would Bow Down (The River Queen)

Jaime kicked at the ground, a sound of annoyance spilling past gritted teeth and tightly pressed lips. His sister, beautiful and golden, smiled alongside her new husband. He despised the both of them. But most of all fair Cersei, for the broken vows. It was not for himself that he’d taken on the white cloak, but for the plea she had put forth in the days of their youth.

With a grunt he turned away from the sight, stomach roiling in protest.

"Wherefore?" Ser Barristan cut him with the single word. "Stay your movement, boy."

There was something in the man's eyes that Jaime did not like. Still he remained at the request, refusal warranting something far more unpleasant than a happy vision of the newlyweds.

Eyes turning back to his sister and her spouse, Jaime retreated behind the walls of his own mental keep, the heavy walls keeping at bay even the slightest of his troubling thoughts. If only the shield would materialise itself, the knight considered, resisting the urge to curl his lips in a sneer.

He was safe behind the fine masonry for the time being.

And there he needn't bother with anyone but his own person.

* * *

"Is that wise?" the Queen asked, her sweet voice filling the uneasy silence. "I mean no disrespect, my lord," she addressed the Old Wolf, "but your daughter has never quite recovered after," she trailed off delicately, one hand sweeping a vague gesture before the eyes of those present.

Jaime almost snorted. Delicate Cersei, the very thought made him want to laugh. Aye, his sister, the flower. The whole breath of Casterly Rock would collectively wither under such a presumption. If his sister was any sort of flower, then she was a thorny one, barbs made for poking and stabbing hid behind that façade. He should know best of all.

"But of course it is," the King insisted. The very way he said it stood testimony to the fact that his ardour burned ever as bright for the she-wolf, even if some of her wits had been knocked out by her brother. A special gift not many a man possessed, Jaime thought, pitying the poor Northerner girl. She had made an enemy of his sister and did not even know it.

Peace seemed out of reach in the company of Starks.

Rickard Stark had yet to give an answer. Thus Jaime hoped.

* * *

Harsh words were spoken behind closed door, cries and yells slipped through the cracks, muffled, but intelligible. Jaime sighed. He had known from the very beginning that it would be so. Kings and queens were simply not meant to love each other.

His sister was spitting out curses, her voice growing higher and louder, as if the tears and sorrow which hung upon it proved no burden. Yet the young knight had heard her weeping in sadness. The fall had hurt his sister’s pride, he decided, not her heart.

And why should it when she’d bedded down with a crown instead of a man.

Robert roared in reply something which Jaime could not bear repeating. So he stood there, still and frozen. There was nothing else to be done. Just like in the days of yore. What went on behind the sumptuous carvings was to never be heard and seen, not to mention acknowledged.

Cersei was not Rhaella, the thought came. The old queen was dust in her urn, never having defied her king the way his sister proceeded to. And mayhap that had been the pusillanimity the gods has punished.

Kings and queens, it bore repeating, were not meant to love one another.

* * *

The young woman screeched and flailed, the torn hem of her kirtle dragging into the dust. She was trying to pull away from her brothers. The oldest of them anyway; the one whose grip on her arm threatened to break the twig of a limb.

Her sobs rang out, loud in the quiet courtyard, followed by unsettling gulps of air, which were soon joined by a string of imprecations so vile Jaime had to wonder how long she’d been in the proximity of the Bull. She spat at the King's feet when he tried to reach her.

And they’d thought her wild before.

Brandon shook the young woman so hard she actually lost her balance, falling to the ground, her legs no longer able to sustain her. From the indignant position in the dirt, the once queen of love and beauty, gazed angrily at her brother, quivering in silent rage, her face deathly pale.

"Enough," Brandon hurled the word at her, "or I'll have you locked away."

She was pulled to her feet, this by the quiet brother. Though he handled the wounded creature in a far gentler manner, she had no gratitude to spare, viciously pulling out of reach.

* * *

Ned looked at Jaime. Jaime was staring at Lyanna Stark, with her torn dress and red eyes and bloodied lips from all the biting her teeth had done unto the poor flesh. She had sunken into a sitting position, drawing her knees to her chest, like a frightened child; a poor attempt to ward off dreaded gasts.

"Is it true?" Jaime could not help asking. "Did she really give birth to a child?" The callowness did not even register to him until it was much too late.

Most everyone knew what had occurred at the Tower of Joy; for which they had to thank the hearsay sprung from restless tongues. Lyanna Stark, under pressure, became pregnant. It was said that when she birthed the child, the creature was an abomination, a clear sign of the gods' disapproval, as if losing a war was not that on its very own.

The only ones who knew the truth about the child had not spoken, except to claim that it had died. Presumably the sight had been much too horrific.

Eddard Stark merely shook his head, gaze returning to the woman.

All the secrecy. Jaime snorted. “Shall I put this question to the lady then?”

* * *

"Get rid of her, Jaime," Cersei hissed, her mouth close to his, the sweet poison of her on his tongue. "Haven't you seen her? She's little better than a wild beast. She frightens me."

More like she annoyed Cersei; there was little one found fear-inducing about Lyanna Stark which might warrant physical action. There were times when she did not even know where she was, poor girl. Jaime looked at his sister, his twin, his other half, not understanding; few and far between as these moments were, their recurring pattern was not lost on him. Cersei continued. "And what has she to live for anyway? She's not whole, brother. She's broken and it would be kinder to end her misery."

An image of Rhaella from long gone flashed before his eyes. Would it have been kinder to kill that woman too, he wondered, fist clenching on the pommel of a short knife. The smooth surface burned against his fingertips.

"Oh, Jaime. Take pity on the poor creature, won't you?" As if Cersei cared one wit. Likely as not her pleas were tied to words she’d heard as a girl in a small dark tent.

He said not one thing to that.

* * *

She was sitting before a bush of roses, sucking on her thumb, presumably swiping at a newly inflicted wound. Jaime approached her silently. But she heard him anyway. It must have been the heavy armour with its creaks. The woman glanced at him over one shoulder and with the light shining on her just so, she looked almost carefree.

"Ser," she cried out, a smile on her lips at the sight of him to Jaime's great surprise. "Ser Arthur!" She rose to her feet and walked to him in a quick succession of steps. "Is there news from the Prince?"

Sick to his stomach, Jaime levelled a horrified gaze at her. It was one of hose moments in which she lost herself. Remaining motionless, Jaime gave her nothing.

The insistent stare seemed to call her back to cruel reality. A mournful cry drifted past her lips and she looked down at her hands. Fingers clenched in slow motion, rising up to tangled strands, gripping handfuls.

Would hushing her work? By the way she acted, he rather thought not. But Jaime’s heart was as always pierced by the tears of a woman. Weak in the face of it, he pried her fisted hands away gently from the unkempt mane.

* * *

He would never understand what had prompted him to ask her about the child; he’d never held any child in particular regard and certainly not hers. But Lyanna's head shot up and a strange fire began to burn in her eyes. "They killed him," she whispered harshly, the voice not even belonging to her, gravely and thin. "My son. My boy. They killed him."

The truth was an easy matter to uncover from that moment forth.

Brandon Stark had been the one to find his sister. And he had acted as he thought best. As any brother might have in his stead, the knight considered, eyes upon the she-wolf. "They said my son was born dead. I nursed him. He drew breath."

If it had been Ned Stark, perhaps the boy might have yet lived. That one was softer than the Old Wolf’s eldest. He might have chosen the side of his sister. Undoubtedly, it would have incurred him the wrath of the King.

And yet, kings were oft to be found in foul moods and rarely with good reason.

Jaime nodded towards the woman, signalling his understanding. Let her have for memories for a little while. Those did not stand to bring ruin.

* * *

She rocked back and forth, a low chant on her lips. The man thought it might be a name she was repeating, but the word was lost in the hooting of the owl and the song of the crickets.

There was no doubting the fact that grief had driven her mad. Jaime stared at her pityingly. Lyanna hadn't wished to discuss anything more with him after speaking of the boy whom she’d not named. He couldn't manage to find out whether she had loved the father as well as she had the child, or whether a man he had once admired was no better than a monster.

But then again, they were all monsters. From him who had broken every vow ever made, to Prince Rhaegar who had stolen away a young bride not his own, to Lyanna Stark who had given herself to a married man, to Brandon, her brother, who had managed to cruelly dispose of an inconvenience in the path of securing the King's alliance, to Aerys the Mad who had burned people and found enjoyment in their torment.

But who could blame them if there was not even one of them left?

The woman followed him with an easy step.

* * *

He helped her up gingerly and tied the rope around her waist. Lyanna looked at him, seemingly unmoved by the preparations. Her eyes had dulled to an unfeeling grey which allowed no thought to reflect in those orbs. Jaime thought he would have been put out by tears and begging, but the girl gave little.

The expertly tied knot was the focus of her attention. The she-wolf pulled at the string feebly. "Will it hold?" Her grip grew stronger, the tugging ever less gentle.

"It shall," Jaime promised without a moment’s hesitation, taking the heavy rock in his hands.

Together they looked at the murky surface of the pond. A leaf fell upon those dark waters, disrupting the stillness. "Burn me after."

Everyone that mattered to her had been given to the flames, Jaime reckoned. He shrugged at her request. "They might not wish to burn you." Flames were for dragons. She was merely a wolf.

"I'll haunt them then," came the chilling promise in such a natural and calm a manner that one might presume the woman to be capable of such a feat. He did not wish to know what her conviction was.

Jaime knew, however, without a doubt that she would haunt him.

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to take moment to thank [ silverscream ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/silverscream/pseuds/silverscream) for introducing me to the stunning Blackmore's Night. Now I have a thousand songs to help me along.
> 
> The reason why this is not a gift to you silverscream is because I'm quite afraid you'll find me and knock me upside the head for giving you nightmares. :))


End file.
